I miss my old tree,

the one i used to bury little dead birds,

the one i used to take a nap under,

the one which i once believed to be a fairy, disguised as a tree,

the one that provided me shelter and companion.

I miss the green field,

the one patched wif white sands by the side,

the one which crowned me king of my own world,

the one in which i always could be pocahontas,

which provided me with space to run and jump as i please

I miss the cement stairs,

the one where i could pretend to have wings and just fly high,

watched everyone as i float by in my mind,

the one where i'd always hangout wif my cats, without a care in the world,

the one where'd i'd pretend to be a pirate and climed the highest sail post 

I miss the lake,

where i'd always hunt for frog eggs as i was the most powerful witch on earth,

the one where i'd once fished with my dad,

the one where i'd once believe they were mermaids in,

 where the reflections is what i once thought as fairies, dancing across the ripples,

and where i'd be an audience to the wind who'd always play it's melody across the surface

I miss the leaves,

whom never failed at supporting my weary head in the afternoon,

a sketch book, where'd i would always sketch my brilliant yet random ideas,

whom made me scream so many times as i saw a spider resting behind it,

a magic carpet in which i sat on, in my world of make believe.

i am..

home sick.